


Transatlantic Entanglement

by Embelini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fashion Designer Draco Malfoy, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, London, M/M, New York City, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embelini/pseuds/Embelini
Summary: With Pansy and Ginny's nuptials impending, Draco leaves the safety of his life in New York to take his spot as best man. The two-week trip opens his eyes to everything he is missing, not least his best friend Harry. Can Draco take a leap of faith and stay in England with his loved ones? Or will he flee back to the comfort of his lavish Manhattan lifestyle?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	1. SATURDAY 15TH AUGUST 2015

The sun was just beginning to rise in New York city, the warm light filtering through the windows of the high-ceilinged Perry Street apartment. The property boasted exposed brickwork, risqué artwork, and the eclectic furniture you would expect from a thirty something designer living in the big apple.

Draco checked the calendar on his Mac one last time, making sure all tasks were scheduled for his assistant, leaving him free for his two week trip back to England. His assistant had recently graduated from Parsons and had made himself indispensable worryingly quickly. Draco’s eyes travelled around his apartment, searching out stray belongings he forgot to pack. He straightened up the items on his desk and bookshelf, smiling at his recently acquired CFDA award. Satisfied that everything was in order, he picked up his phone, eyeing his reflection in the wall mirror beside him as his call connected with his assistant.

“Hey boss,” answered the keen 21 year old, a New York twang purposefully colouring his Boston accent.

“Joshua, is the car service en route?” Draco put the phone on speaker so he could sweep his long silver blonde hair into a knot on top of his head. There was no danger of Americanisms affecting the perfect poshness of his upper class diction.

“Sure is, is there anything else you need from me?”

“That’s all for now. Are you sure you can handle things while I’m away?” Draco always worried when he wasn’t there to control everything, so didn’t often take time off. However, he knew Joshua was perfectly capable of handling business for two weeks.

“Yeah boss, I’ll call you if I need to.”

“Good. I’ll see you in a fortnight.” Draco rubbed at the back of his aching neck, before rolling his head.

“Hey Draco?”

“Yes Josh?” he replied.

“Try to relax and enjoy it ok, weddings are supposed to be fun.”

Draco sighed around his reply. “I will.”

“You get to see that gorgeous man of yours,” Josh teased, with a smile in his voice.

“He is not my man, Josh,” Draco insisted.

“Yeah right. See ya boss.”

Draco ended the call, knowing there was no point in arguing with him.

He felt his anxiety rise as he considered the trip ahead. Eighteen years since the war ended and Draco still avoided going home as much as possible. He knew things had moved on back in England, and ‘Death Eater Draco’ had faded into insignificance as the years passed, but memories of those first few months of relentless confrontations in wizarding Britain never did quite fade. When there was no sign of the animosity letting up, Draco and his mother had fled to muggle Paris, renouncing his incarcerated father, and changing their name to Narcissa’s maiden name Black. It was there that Draco studied fashion design, before accepting a coveted internship with Louis Vuitton. By the time he set up his own brand in New York, he was well known both for his boundary pushing muggle menswear, and his playboy ways, photographed with a different man on his arm each week. After ten years building his business, Draco’s partying had settled down somewhat; now he was more often found spending time enjoying meals with friends, who had quickly become his adopted muggle family.

The sound of his intercom buzzing brought Draco out of his introspection, as he strode over to the door to answer it. His doorman Frank let him know the driver had arrived, so with one last sweeping look over his penthouse, Draco grabbed his little used wand and a bag of galleons from his desk drawer, gathered his bags and went out into the early morning sunshine.

++++++++++++++

When Draco arrived at the portkey terminal at Heathrow that afternoon, he was pleased to see his oldest friend Pansy waving at him from the other side of the security check point. He waved back as he submitted his wand for inspection, smile only faltering slightly as the middle-aged security wizard cocked his head to one side and stiffly exclaimed, “Welcome back to the UK Mr… uh… Black”.

“Thank you,” Draco replied, ignoring the slight, and grabbing his wand and bags before rushing through the exit to Pansy. The sooner they got back into muggle territory the better, as far as Draco was concerned. Pansy and Draco wrapped their arms around each other, squeezing each other tightly and giggling as they broke apart.

“Hello, you absolute fucking stud.”

Draco laughed, his anxiety dissipating as he revelled in Pansy’s company. It really had been too long between visits, and Draco vowed not to leave it so long again. “God Pans, I’ve missed you.”

“That’s your own fault you great idiot. You know I’m always gagging for you. I can’t believe I have to get married to get your stupid yank arse back home.” She poked her tongue out at him before the irrepressible grin came back.

“And to a Weasley of all things.” Draco schooled his face into a mask of horror before it slipped back into his delighted smile. He slipped his arm around Pansy’s shoulders as they headed for the exit.

“Oh, I know, Ginny’s a fucking snack but can you imagine how much of a nightmare her mother has been, planning this wedding.” Pansy rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh.

“I cannot even bear thinking about it Pans. You look amazing by the way; domestic bliss obviously suits you.” Draco raised his eyebrows as he appraised Pansy’s sleek black bob, dark sunglasses, and green jumpsuit.

Pansy smirked as she returned his gaze. “Well I have to make the effort when my best friend is a bloody fashion master.”

“Behave, you’ve always been fabulous.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere darling. Now we better get a move on, Gin’s mixing the cocktails as we speak.”

The pair exited the portkey terminal, where multiple muggle photographers were waiting on the concourse. They shouted Draco’s name and bellowed intensely personal questions, before Pansy grabbed his hand and rushed him and his bags into a waiting black cab. Pansy parroted her address to the driver before relaxing back into her seat, sighing as she leaned her head against Draco’s shoulder.

Draco kissed the top of her head before asking, “So what is the itinerary for this delightful adventure?”

Pansy sat back up and turned to face Draco. “Well tonight we are going to the muggle pub that Hermione’s Rex found, the usual gang”.

Draco felt some of the tension returning, as he asked as casually as he could, “The gang is…”

Pansy gave him a knowing smile. “Hermione and Rex, Blaise and Luna, Ron and Lavender, Harry, Greg, Theo and Astoria, Nev and Hannah, George and Angelina, Daphne… um… think that’s it for tonight. You know Theo just separated from Astoria right? Might be a bit awkward.”

“You mentioned,” Draco replied, tensing and releasing his fists to try and work off some of the increasing anxiety.

“It’ll be fine Draco, we are all one big happy family nowadays. I promise there will be no trouble or war talk. You’ve seen us all since then any way. It’ll be lovely, honestly. Plus they’re all on their best behaviour for the duration. The only one more terrifying in their rage than me is Ginny fucking Weasley. No one is going to wreck our wedding.”

Draco released the breath he did not know he was holding. “I know Pans, it’ll be perfect.”

“Yes, it will, and I won’t hesitate to hex the bollocks off anyone who causes trouble.” Pansy casually re-applied her lippy, an expert at keeping a steady hand as the cab swerved through the London traffic. “I thought you’d want to stay with Harry this time? I have to get my Draco news off him nowadays, you fucker.”

“Shut it you, we’ve had to rely on each other since you and Ginny shacked up. He’s the only one not too busy for me.” Draco pouted at Pansy, who stuck her tongue out in response. He continued, “Of course I want to stay with you, it’ll be wedding central and you know I have the best taste out of all your friends,” He smirked.

“True,” Pansy replied, pulling him in to put a big smacker on his cheek.

The cab pulled over, and Draco hastily paid the driver before nudging Pansy out onto the pavement. He followed Pansy into her shiny apartment building, squeezing into the lift with her and his luggage. He was glad to be able to stay with them for the festivities.

As they entered the flat, Draco found himself tackled by an enthusiastic ginger female, squealing as she wrapped herself around him. “Draco I’m so happy you’re finally here! Pansy’s been a fucking nightmare waiting for you,” she shrieked.

“Hello Ginny, how are you darling?” Draco gasped, squeezing her in return.

Ginny took the hint and loosened her hold on him, surveying him at arms length. “Gorgeous as ever I see,” she winked and released him. “Can I entice you with a blushing bride?” Ginny laughed at the alarmed look on his face before continuing, “It’s a cocktail silly, we’re testing them for the welcome drinks” she wiggled her eyebrows up and down.

“Well that explains the shrieking.” Draco raised an eyebrow as Ginny huffed out a sheepish laugh. “I would love to imbibe with you, but have I time for a shower first?”

“Course darling.” Pansy joined them, after slipping out of her tan wedges and chucking her sunglasses on the sideboard.

Draco excused himself to the guest room, loosed his hair from on top his head, shaking it out and running his fingers roughly over his scalp. He showered quickly and selected a tight black t-shirt and closely tailored trousers to wear with his trademark ankle boots. He slipped on a thin blazer and rolled up the sleeves to show some of his tattoos. His obsession with collecting tattoos started after wanting a cover up for the dark mark. The faded snake did nothing for his image of a French-educated fashion designer, and once he got the dragon covering it, he became addicted. His favourite was the field of daffodils on his bicep, which he chose for his mother. Draco added a light grey Alexander McQueen scarf to finish his look, then joined the girls in the kitchen.

“No James tonight?” Draco asked Ginny.

“Oh no, he’s at Andromeda’s with Ted. No doubt they’ll be going out to cause chaos somewhere.” Ginny handed him a pink drink in a margarita glass.

“I cannot believe you have a kid who is of age. Honestly, I can’t believe any of us are old enough.” Draco took a sip of the drink and gave Ginny a thumbs up.

“Ugh tell me about it. He’s been a right prick lately,” Ginny grumbled.

“Gin!” Draco exclaimed, while Pansy gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Well he fucking is. The only one he’ll listen to is his dad and even that’s not all the time; he is just pure attitude and I don’t know how he’s going to get through his NEWTs without Teddy there to calm him down. None of us exactly had a normal childhood so we don’t know what to do with him. Even mum and dad are pulling their hair out, he’s worse than Fred and George. I’m sure you know we were summoned to the school by McGonagall seven times last year.” Ginny paused to take a sip of her drink. "You know how protective Harry was of Jamie when he was small? I think now he’d gladly have anyone take him. He’s a seventeen year old man-baby and we’ve all had it up to here.” Ginny let out a frustrated huff as she gestured above her head.

“Being the Potter war baby can’t be easy for him, all that pressure. He was as famous as his father, and not for doing anything other than being born. We all know how damaging it is to pin all those hopes and expectations on a child.”

“Oh, I know Draco, he’s as fucked up as his dad.”

“Harry isn’t-” Draco started, before being cut off.

“Maybe not so much now but he has been, we’ve all seen the dark places his head goes. Even now, his closest relationship is with someone three thousand miles away. He never lets himself get close to anyone, scared he’s going to lose them. Do you know last Saturday he cancelled a date I tried to set him up on so he could go home and talk to you?” Ginny revealed.

“What?” Draco stuttered. “He never told me about a date. I would have left him to it, had I known.”

“Well he wouldn’t tell you about any dates would he.” Pansy chimed in.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Draco frowned at her.

“Don’t be thick Draco, it’s not exactly normal to talk each other to sleep at night if you’re _just friends._ ” Ginny rolled her eyes as she mimed air quotes.

“We are just friends, and I’d thank you two to not make things awkward,” he huffed in reply.

“Oh Draco, I doubt we will make it awkward. I showed Pots your Vogue shoot last week and he practically came in his pants.” Pansy cackled.

Draco blushed deeply and groaned. He took a deep drink of the pink concoction to cover the embarrassment he felt at Harry seeing him posing topless like a top notch twink. “Can you please just drop it and stop interfering, you old bints. Our friendship is important to me and I don’t want you two wrecking it.”

Ginny and Pansy exchanged a knowing glance, before wrapping him in a hug and exclaiming their love for him, along with a “Less of the old!” from Pansy.

After sampling a blushing bride, monster-in-law and four groomsmen of the apocalypse, the three of them headed out to The Wander Inn.

++++++++++++++

Harry eyed his reflection critically, ruffling his hopeless black curls and grimacing as they stubbornly refused to conform to any look other than dragged through a hedge backwards. The short back and sides did tidy it up somewhat, however he wasn’t sure the greying temples did anything for him. He huffed out a sigh, before turning to the side to appraise his outfit. He supposed he looked alright for his age. He kept fit from pick up quidditch games and glassblowing for his living, after being retired out of the aurors a decade ago for irreparable damage to his hip. Harry thought himself lucky for the striking green eyes, strong stubbled jaw and muscled physique, as it made up for the numerous scars and the slight limp he suffered when the weather was cold. _Christ, if I’m this much of a wreck when I’m 35, what the hell shape will I be in when I’m an old man_. Harry internally rolled his eyes at his thoughts, ruffling some salt spray through his wild hair and spraying his neck and chest with Gaultier Le Male.

He knew he was only worrying this much over his appearance because Draco would be there, and Harry felt completely inadequate next to him. Draco had become as famous (or infamous) in the muggle world as Harry was in the wizarding one. Although Harry spoke with Draco most days, that was not face to face. Being confronted with the blonde in real life made Harry nervous, especially considering the increasing frequency of their video chats whilst one or the other was in bed. Draco in crisp white sheets, vulnerable and sleepy with bed head, was a special kind of delicious torture for Harry. It had always been platonic, and Harry treasured the friendship and the easy way he could now talk to Draco about anything. What he struggled to ignore was the insistent buzzing in his head that he wanted more. He wanted it all with Draco, but he knew he couldn’t measure up and would never get the relationship he was so desperate for. It hadn’t helped when Pansy had gleefully plonked Vogue magazine in front of him last week, open on the double page spread of a topless Draco Black, tight black jeans clinging to his hips, tattoos adorning his thin, pale arms. He looked more a model than designer, with cheek bones that would cut glass. He held his head back, elongating his elegant throat, pale hair cascading over his shoulders. Harry’s breath had hitched at the sight of him, to which Pansy gleefully smirked, “Fucking fit isn’t he?” laughing at Harry’s mumbled, “If you like that sort of thing.”

Shaking that particular thought train out of his head, Harry took one last look at his reflection, deciding he couldn’t go wrong with plain blue jeans and dark green t-shirt, before reassuring himself that his appearance didn’t matter anyway. Draco knew what he looked like, and that didn’t stop him being his friend. Knocking back a shot of Ogden’s for the nerves, Harry grabbed his sunnies and a bubble wrapped parcel off the worktop, slipped his feet into his tidiest blue Gazelles, and headed out.

++++++++++++++

Draco followed Pansy and Ginny into the pub, taking in its bright, sunlit atmosphere. It was a busy Saturday night, full of muggles making the most of the evening sunshine. A waitress guided them to their large table in the beer garden, the other patrons eyeing their prime spot enviously. They were the first here, as Pansy had wanted to ensure everything was in order before the rest arrived. Unofficially it was a celebration for Ginny’s birthday; with the wedding so close they hadn’t wanted anything too ostentatious. Tea-lights and potted succulents adorned the rough wooden table, interspersed with bottles of red and white wine. It was simple and elegant, and Draco felt a pang at everything he was missing out on by living so far away.

“It looks fabulous Pans,” Draco reassured his friend. “Relax, I’ll get us a drink.”

The waitress appeared before he could sneak off to the bar, taking their order for three mojitos. As she left the others started to arrive, and Draco masked his nerves in friendly greetings. The group had been friends for years, since Blaise and Luna got married a couple of years after the war; the Hogwarts house system becoming less and less relevant the further from school they got. Draco had been back every year or so since setting up in New York, and after the first few rounds of awkward apologies was welcomed into the fold. Due to being so far away, he never felt as relaxed in the group as he should, and it took a few days into each visit before his nerves dissipated. He kept in touch with many of them via email or phone, but that was sporadic, with them all having their own lives to pay attention to. The exception to this was Harry, who had inadvertently become Draco’s closest friend. Their friendship groups had become intertwined, and the more time they spent together, the more they realised they had in common. Spending their childhood as pawns for powerful wizards had left each of them with similar baggage. Nowadays, barely a day went by without a text or phone call, and Draco wouldn’t jeopardise that for anything.

Draco was drawn into conversation with Hermione’s husband Rex, a muggle psychology professor from Yorkshire. He felt on edge, as everyone had arrived with one notable exception, and found he wasn’t really following the conversation. He usually enjoyed catching up with Rex, however he knew there was only one person he was desperate to see. Trust Potter to be late as usual. He went through the motions with Rex, mumbling, “Yes”, “I see”, “Mm hmm” in appropriate places, as he sipped his way through his drink far too quickly. He was about to offer to go to the bar, when a deep voice muttered “Boo!” in his ear, making his stomach jump into his throat.

Draco leapt to his feet and wheeled round, wrapping his arms around Harry, who reciprocated with a huge grin on his face. “What time do you call this?” was the best Draco could come up with in the excitement. He pulled back, keeping his arms on Harry’s shoulders as he surveyed him. He looked good; hair looking just fucked, Ray Bans on, beautifully muscular, with stubble shadowing his strong jaw. Draco considered it a good thing he could not see those green eyes, as the full force of all his Harry-ness at once would be too much for him to handle right now. He knew that he still had a crush on Potter but was determined not to let it affect their friendship. He allowed himself twenty seconds to drink him in, then shut those feelings tightly away.

“Bar?” Harry replied, hands on Draco’s elbows, grin still firmly in place.

“Fuck yes.” Draco reluctantly removed his hands from Harry’s shoulders and followed him inside. It was busier in the pub than it had been when he and the girls had arrived. Pushing his sunglasses up onto his head, Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and led him through the crowd, ensuring they didn’t get separated.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Harry could not take his eyes off Draco as they waited at the packed bar.

“Nearly bottled it at Newark,” admitted Draco.

“Glad you didn’t, I’ve missed you.” Harry’s crinkled eyes glittered.

“You too.” Draco blushed and looked away, gesturing for the bar tender. “A lemonade and a…”

“Pint of Bath Gem,” finished Harry. “You not drinking?” he directed at Draco.

“The girls have plied me with alcohol since I got here, something called a monster-in-law?”

Harry laughed and said, “Don’t tell me, the four groomsmen? Fucking lethal.”

“That was it.” Draco smirked. “I’m half pissed already, thought I had better pace myself if this is to continue for two more weeks.”

Harry batted Draco’s hand away as he moved to take out his wallet, and he passed a tenner to the barman. After retrieving his change, they grabbed their drinks and carefully weaved their way back outside. Draco returned to his seat beside Pansy, and Harry stopped by Ginny’s chair, Ray Bans back in place, giving her shoulder a squeeze. Ginny turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow and an “About time you twat.”

Harry grinned down at her and took something out of his pocket with his spare hand. He gestured at it and it slowly grew in size. He passed Ginny the bubble wrapped parcel with a peck on the cheek, wishing her a happy birthday. He took the seat opposite Draco as she unwrapped the present, nodding his greetings at the rest of the guests. She gasped as a glass sculpture of two naked women, face to face in an embrace, and pulsing with an ethereal light was revealed.

“Wow Pots, this might be your best yet,” breathed Pansy.

Harry gave a shy smile, before his bravado won out “Cheers Pans. James tried to help me with it, said I obviously didn’t know what naked birds look like so I could borrow some of his porn mags if I liked.” Harry chuckled. “I said ‘how’d you think I knocked up your mum?’” Harry continued, “He just clamped his hands over his ears, told me I was fucking disgusting and ran from the room. Wish I’d worked out it was that easy to get rid of him sooner.”

The table erupted in laughter, as Harry caught Draco’s eye and gave him a wink. Draco smiled and shook his head fondly in return. Ginny blew him a kiss in thanks.

The waitress came to take their orders, plonking pitchers of Pimms and lemonade alongside the table wine. Harry distractedly placed his order with one eye on Draco, who was reminiscing enthusiastically with Pansy about her trip to New York last year. He finished his pint then moved onto the Malbec in front of him, offering the bottle to Luna and Greg who sat either side of him. He chatted easily with Luna about the Quibbler coverage of the opening of his next exhibition, before being interrupted by Ron standing up and clinking a fork against his glass.

Ron cleared his throat loudly and the chatter died down, all eyes turning to him. “Right then you ‘orrible lot. It’s been too long since we last managed to get together like this, and now we have two blissful weeks ahead of us. I know some of us have real jobs, and we can’t always palm our revolting kids off on those too stupid to say no…”

“I’ll tell mum you said that,” Ginny interrupted.

Ron gave her the two fingered salute then continued, “But let's do our best to keep the celebrations going eh? There’s not many single ones still standing, so who knows how many weddings we have left to be completely immature at. So, next on the agenda - Wednesday night we will be down the Leaky for the quiz. I hope you can all make it. For now, it’s Gin’s night, so Gin is games master. First though, two fingers for the birthday girl!”

The group all cheered and whooped, downing two fingers of their drinks before resuming the cheering and calls of “Happy birthday Gin”.

Ginny stood up with a mischievous grin on her face, raised her glass to the group and downed her Pimms to enthusiastic applause and whoops. She smacked her lips and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Ooh what rules shall we play tonight then?” she rubbed her hands together gleefully, her grin turning more to an evil smirk. “Harry’s banker.” He nodded his agreement. “One sickle for swearing or pointing, down your drink for right handed drinking. Innuendo bingo I reckon.”

The group cheered at that; it was one of their favourite games. “Who is the target?” asked Harry.

“Any staff, waitresses and bar staff all included. Must be witnessed though,” Ginny replied.

“Obviously.” Harry poked his tongue out at her. “Who has a pen and paper?” Hermione passed him both out of her bag, which he gratefully took, with a “cheers darling.”

Harry was poised to write and looked to Ginny for instruction. “Right then, one sickle for each, no laughing or giving the game away or you will have to have a shot penalty. Tequila I think.”

The group groaned as Harry chuckled and stated that was fair. “What bingos then love?” he asked Ginny.

“Salty rim,” Ginny replied as the group laughed and Harry wrote it down. He could see it was going to be a particularly raucous night, but he thought they needed it after the months of worry they had gone through with James. He didn’t think he could possibly turn maudlin tonight, not when flying high with Draco’s presence.

“Moist is always a winner,” Harry suggested.

“How would you know?” Pansy cackled as Harry and Draco both rolled their eyes. “Yes, moist is good, fantastic in fact.” She winked at Ginny.

Harry wrote it down with a shake of his head. “Come on you lot, give me more.”

“That’s what she said,” quipped Greg, to a mixture of groans and giggles.

The group added “glistening”, “big hole”, “wet”, and “juicy” which Harry dutifully jotted down on his list. This carried on for quite some time, becoming more and more ridiculous and dirty, until…

“Spaghetti Bollocknaise,” smirked Draco, eyebrow raised at Pansy who he knew had ordered bolognese.

“Fucker,” replied Pansy, before the group cried out for her to pay up.

Games master Ginny squealed, “One sickle for that dreadful potty mouth darling,” before planting a kiss on her fiancé’s lips. Harry held his hand out for Pansy to deposit a sickle in before he started the first of many stacks of coins in front of him.

“Who has the takings from last time?” enquired Neville, prompting Hermione to delve into her handbag for an envelope of muggle notes.

“I exchanged them for tonight,” she explained. “I’m not going to the bar for a bottle of tequila though, far too pregnant.”

They usually saved the takings from a night of drinking games to fund the shot penalties for the next one. As they got older these nights became few and far between, but this just made it all the more fun when they did get together, and much sillier.

“Bar is manic,” stated Harry, “I’ll see if I can flag down a waitress.” He waved over a waitress, who smiled at him flirtatiously. “Can I get a bottle of tequila please, with…” he did a quick head count “eighteen shot glasses. Can you give them a salty rim please?” The waitress blushed and nodded. “Oh, and some lime wedges.”

Harry waited until the waitress retreated until he held his hands up, bowed his head and exclaimed, “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it’s done.” The table laughed and applauded him as he took the sickle off the table, flicked it into the air and caught it before putting it in his pocket.

The group seemed to struggle with swearing more than pointing, making the most of the absence of their children. The sickles had begun to stack up in front of Harry, and more than a few glasses of Pimms or wine had been sunk for right handed drinking. The wait staff brought the food out, with the usual kerfuffle of remembering who had ordered what, giving Pansy the perfect opportunity to exclaim, “Mine’s the spaghetti bollocknaise!” She earned her sickle back, but the laughter it caused in several of the more inebriated guests resulted in penalty shots being given out.

Harry of course found his gaze wandering back to Draco as he ate his meal and half listened to the banter around the table. It was starting to get dark, so he removed his sunglasses, cast a wordless “finite” at his vision correcting charm, and fished his thick-rimmed glasses out of his pocket. He made a concerted effort not to stare at Draco, now he no longer had the benefit of hiding his glances behind dark shades. He was feeling a bit on the too-drunk side of pleasantly buzzed, so subtly snuck off to the toilet for a swig of sober-up potion. He must not have been quick enough though, as Draco caught him in the act.

“That’s cheating!” Draco practically shouted, also a little on the drunk side. “I won’t tell if you let me have some,” he continued with a lazy grin, as Harry tried to shush him. Harry passed him the bottle and enjoyed watching him swallow a little too much.

“You coming to the burrow tomorrow?” Harry enquired, as his tipsiness subsided.

“I honestly have no idea what I’m doing for the next two weeks, aside from the 29th. I’m entirely at the girls’ mercy.” The flush in his cheeks and glaze of his gaze was fading as the potion took hold.

“Lucky them” Harry licked his lips. 

“Mm,” Draco replied, unconsciously following the path of Harry’s tongue with his eyes.

“Draco-” Harry started, before the moment was broken by a muggle stumbling through the door to the gents.

“We should get back,” said Draco, “They will be wondering where we are.”

Harry followed Draco back to the table, trying to keep his eyes off his arse, but finding the back of his head equally tempting. He had a strong urge to tangle his hands in that long silvery hair. Once again shaking away his traitorous thoughts, Harry made a concerted effort to focus on his role as games master for the rest of the evening, ending up with a pocket full of sickles and a pleasant tipsiness as the group said their goodnights.


	2. SUNDAY 16TH AUGUST 2015

Draco woke up slowly, first becoming aware of the clean linen smell of the pillow his face was smushed into, then the sound of the shower running, finally the scratchy feeling in his eyes and the pounding of his head. It had been a good night; his worries had been for nothing and seeing Harry again for the first time in months had been a balm for his tired soul.

Draco was a self-confessed workaholic, partly to fill his hours and avoid leaving him time to think, and partly because denying himself indulgences in life had become habit by now. After the war Draco was filled with guilt and self-loathing, choosing to make amends by throwing himself into work and leaving little time for pleasurable pursuits. In the early days when Draco found himself smiling or feeling joy, he would admonish himself for it, the voice in his head reminding him that he didn’t deserve happiness after everything he’d done. He spent those early years drinking too much and too often, bringing nameless muggles to his bed when he needed a connection, and building a reputation as an aloof, unapproachable snob. His therapist had spent years talking him around to letting go of some of the guilt, which he had for the most part, however, old habits die hard. His demeanour had thawed in recent years, earning him a few close friends in New York, and he had cut back on the booze when he saw it could become a problem. Still his romantic entanglements lasted no longer than a few months, and he denied himself the happiness of a true relationship of equals that most of his friends had so fortunately found.

Then there was Harry. Potter was Draco’s guilty pleasure, their frequent interactions decorating his grey world with sparks of pure joy. The reason Joshua thought that Harry was Draco’s _man_ was largely due to the fact that Harry was always on Draco’s mind, to the point that he was forever finding things to buy that Harry would like, or sending him photos of weird and wonderful sights he encountered that he thought Harry would appreciate. The amount he talked about Harry had been noticed by his assistant, and that was despite Draco putting a concerted effort into biting his tongue half the time the man’s name was close to springing from his lips. Draco wouldn’t give Potter up for anything. He knew the war hero fancied him, and as increasingly tempting as it was to act on that, Draco wouldn’t throw his friendship away for a few tumbles in the sack. As for something more, Draco would never allow Harry to settle for someone as broken as him.

Draco lounged in bed, drinking back the glass of water his tipsy self had thoughtfully brought to the bedroom the night before. He thought about Harry, remembering the intoxicatingly manly scent he breathed in when they hugged hello and goodbye. He remembered the way his sleeves were pulled tight over his muscular biceps, the way his cheeks dimpled and his eyes crinkled when he was making a joke. He thought about his deep voice and that booming laugh that gave Draco goosebumps. He remembered the gift that Harry had made for Ginny, how those talented hands had created something so perfect. He recalled Harry catching his eye over the dining table, mesmerising green eyes on him each time he turned around. Draco knew that no number of dark haired men he took home would ever compare to his Harry.

Although Draco shared most of his deepest, darkest secrets with Harry, there was one that he would never tell, and that was the starring role The Chosen One had in Draco’s rich fantasies. He shot a silencing spell towards the door then relaxed back into bed. He had a few favourite screen shots of Harry on his phone, from their many night time video calls, and those combined with his fresh memories from last night gave Draco’s imagination some good material to work with. He slipped his t-shirt over his head and pulled his boxers off, enjoying the feel of the soft sheets on his naked skin. Draco lazily ran his soft hands over his chest, travelling down to his hip bones and then back up. He shut his eyes and imagined Harry’s hands were the ones teasing his nipples, biting his lip and wishing Potter was there to capture his mouth with his own. He enjoyed caressing his own body, feeling his cock thicken but not allowing himself to touch it just yet. He ran a hand up the inside of his thigh, remembering the feel of Harry’s body against his, imagining more than a hug from his friend. As he moved to slowly stroke his shaft, he imagined pinning Harry up against the bar, trailing kisses up his neck, biting his ear, and feeling an answering hardness press against his own. He brushed his thumb over his slit, smearing pre-come back down his length. He sped up his strokes, his breath coming quicker as he thought of all the delicious things he wanted to do to Harry. It didn’t take long before Draco was close, one hand pumping his cock while another cupped his balls and stroked his perineum. He was panting now, thinking of tangling his hands in Harry’s messy curls, while his beautiful mouth devoured Draco’s thick cock. He came with Harry’s name on his lips, decorating his hand and stomach with white stripes. He lay with his eyes closed, letting his breathing return to normal, while he fantasised about something he never had until Harry; that the man was beside him in the afterglow, wrapping his arms around him and kissing his neck until he fell asleep.

With a tremulous sigh Draco slid out of bed and grabbed his towel, before heading for the now empty shower. He felt relaxed after his wank, his headache all but gone now, but he also felt a lingering melancholy. He thought perhaps his fantasy life was getting out of hand, and he should find someone else to think about. Luckily, he’d had a lifetime of locking his feelings away, so he knew he could handle seeing Harry for a couple of weeks without his pesky desires showing on his face.

Draco tended to prefer a long, hot shower, and this morning was no exception. He had always taken great care with his appearance, ensuring he used the best products on his skin and hair, and rigidly stuck to his routine. After his shower Draco spent a few minutes looking at himself in the mirror, noticing his skin was still flushed from the heat. He brushed his hair and dried it gently. He preferred to leave it to dry naturally but he knew he was expected at the Weasley’s for lunch and wasn’t sure how much time he had. He was not about to show up at their house with wet hair drying all flyaway. After cleaning his teeth and moisturising, Draco returned to the guest room where he deliberated over what to wear. His fans and friends both thought that he was effortlessly stylish, throwing on an outfit without much consideration and looking immaculate regardless. This was far from reality however, as Draco spent a great deal of time selecting timeless pieces for his wardrobe to ensure he could always put together something spectacular at a moment’s notice. A glance out the window confirmed it was a bright, sunny day, so Draco chose some pale grey skinny jeans and paired them with a tight white v-neck t-shirt. He tucked an arm of sunglasses from his own collection into the neck of his shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, added a leather Vivienne Westwood cuff to his wrist, then decided he would do. Slipping on some black leather high tops, Draco left the bedroom and followed the scent of coffee through to the kitchen.

++++++++++++++

Lunch at the burrow was a reasonably sedate affair, by Weasley standards. Harry showed up early to relieve Andromeda of his son, in a pair of faded jeans and a loose black band t-shirt he’d picked up at the Blossoms gig he’d taken the boys to last month. He made his way into the kitchen to give Molly a squeeze and offer his help and headed out into the garden when she declined his assistance. Although Molly had been disappointed that her daughter and Harry had never really made a go of their relationship, she still treated him like a son and he affectionately referred to her as “Mother Weasley”. James had barely grunted in his direction since he’d arrived, preferring to sit out on the grass with Ted, listening to what sounded like the Beastie Boys and messing around on their phones. Arthur and George had managed to set up a magic dead-zone surrounding the shed so Arthur could get his muggle contraptions to work, and the boys had soon cottoned on that they could use their tech in a certain spot. The others all got the same treatment when they turned up, many in sunglasses and groaning at loud noises. Teddy was polite enough to come over and shake Draco’s hand when he arrived with the girls, turquoise hair hanging down around his shoulders. James hung back behind, muttering a sullen “alright?” in Draco’s direction before he and Teddy decided to go for a fly. Harry, Draco and Ginny stood and watched them swoop around for a while, as Pansy went to get them all a drink.

“It’s like looking back in time.” Draco observed, needlessly pointing out that James was the spitting image of his father.

“Christ knows where he gets his personality from though, that’s nothing to do with me.” Harry muttered.

“At least he’s flying again,” observed Ginny. James had been kicked off his house Quidditch team last term, for not turning up to training and simply having a poor attitude. He was putting in as little work as possible in all aspects of his schooling which was difficult for the family to understand. Fred and George hadn’t excelled at school, but they had at least built an empire while there. James had little interest in anything lately.

“I suppose,” sighed Harry. “Shall we see if they’ll play with us?”

“After dinner. We’ll play four a side or something,” Ginny replied. “Might blow away the hangover.”

A whole host of red heads helped to set up the table outside, bringing out dishes of roast chicken, potato salad, accompanying side dishes and various accoutrement until it was practically bowing under the weight of food. If anything, Molly’s tendency towards over-feeding had only increased as the family grew. Draco graciously kissed Molly on either cheek, shook Arthur’s hand and gifted them with the basket of American confectionary they had become partial to over the years. He took his seat next to Harry and called out greetings to his dinner companions.

The diners that had been drinking at Ginny’s party last night sat quietly shovelling food into their mouths, wincing away from the boisterous children at the table. Ron’s wife Lavender, who was often described as “bubbly”, did not let her overindulgence the night before hinder her from enthusiastically regaling the group with tales of shocking celebrity gossip she was reporting in Witch Weekly. Many of the guests were cringing at her shrill tone as well as the content of her conversation, so Harry wasn’t surprised when one of them cracked. He was surprised however, that it was James who snapped first.

“Shut up,” James directed towards Lavender, annoyance evident in his voice.

“Don’t be rude Jamie.” Ginny nudged her son, as Lavender huffed and continued with her gossiping. Several more minutes passed as she continued her one-sided monologue, interspersed with mumbles of fake listening sounds from assorted family members.

“Please stop talking,” begged James, trying a more polite tactic. Lavender ignored him, and continued rambling on about the latest sex scandal the Minister for Transport was embroiled in.

“CAN YOU JUST STOP NOW AUNTY LAV!” James shouted, leaving his family gaping at him.

“Just because you’re not interested in corruption and deceit at the ministry, doesn’t mean that everyone else isn’t.” Lavender replied in an icy tone.

“Read the room, no one cares about your shitty gossip! What you write about dad is bad enough, in fact it’s fucking embarrassing. Did you just marry Uncle Ron to get the inside scoop? I’ve had enough of it!”

“Language James!” Admonished Molly, seemingly unable to find anything else to criticise in his outburst. Molly had never taken to Lavender, still unable to get over Ron leaving Hermione, and that was over ten years ago.

Lavender huffed out a bitter laugh before turning narrowed eyes on James. “Actually Jamie, if that were the case, I’d put out a lovely double page spread on what a fuck up the precious war baby is WOULDN’T I?” voice rising as she went on.

“Don’t you dare talk to him like that!” Ginny added, warningly.

“Go ahead and write about me, you silly old cow, I fucking dare you. Your only skill is making grandmothers cream over sad middle age poufs,” James replied, filled with venom.

Harry stepped in at this point, employing his most dangerous dad voice. “James Sirius Potter how dare you talk to your aunt like that. Apologise right now.”

“But dad-”

“No buts, you apologise this minute, or you can go home. You’re ruining this lovely meal your nan has made. Stop being so selfish.”

“Fine, I’ll fuck off home. I’m not apologising to that dumb cow. Sorry nan.” James stalked off moodily.

“No wonder he’s a little shit all the time when his own dad won’t stick up for him,” Ginny muttered under her breath.

“Don’t start Gin. She doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like shit by our reprobate son. I’ll talk to him later.” Harry whispered forcefully back, before apologising to Lavender.

Lavender refused to say a word as she left with Ron and their children, and once they had vacated, the group seemed to sigh in relief.

“Well that was awkward.” chimed in George, “Personally I have always enjoyed Lavender’s unique brand of reporting. That last one on you was inspired Harry, even if you are a sad middle-aged pouf. What was it she called you?”

“Desirable Number One,” joined in Pansy with a smirk, breaking the tension.

“Kindly fuck off, the lot of you,” Harry retorted, earning him a stern look from Molly. “Draco is a sad middle-aged pouf as well and he gets classy reporting in bloody Vogue magazine. I’m stuck with Lavender Weasley for Witch sodding Weekly.” He added in mock horror.

“That’s where you’re mistaken Potter…I’m not sad.” Draco added, raising his eyebrow at Harry. “I did enjoy Desirable Number One though; I changed your name to that in my phone when I saw it.”

“You did not! What are you doing buying Witch Weekly?” cringed Harry.

“Oh darling, I always keep Draco up to date with your press coverage, it’s only fair seeing as I show you his.” grinned Pansy. “Also she didn’t come up with Desirable Number One you know, she stole that from me.”

“Very clever,” grumbled Harry, cringing inwardly at Draco receiving his mortifying press clippings.

Normal chatter resumed, the atmosphere becoming more and more relaxed as the adults sipped cider in the sunshine and the children left the table to play in the garden around them. Draco talked to Teddy about his work with Harry and what his career plans were, earning him an invitation to visit Harry’s hot shop the following day. The day ended sooner than it usually would have, with the adults still feeling a bit tender, choosing to forego the family quidditch match.

++++++++++++++

James was sulking in his room when Harry returned to the flat a couple of hours later. Harry deposited the copious leftovers Molly had foisted on him in the fridge; despite him being a fantastic cook, Molly seemed to think her adopted son and grandson were hopeless and needed looking after.

Kicking his shoes off in the hallway, Harry knocked gently on James’ bedroom door. When there was no answer, he told James he was coming in, before opening the door. He found James curled up on his bed, facing the wall. This was not an unusual position for Harry to find his son in, whose angry outbursts were usually followed by shame and bitterness. Harry sat down on the bed next to James and started rubbing his back, like he had done a thousand times since the boy was small. He continued this for long minutes, knowing the key to his child was to wait in silence until he was ready to talk. After a while James rolled over on his bed, facing towards his father but refusing to meet his eye. Harry moved his hand to James’ head, running his fingers through his son’s messy curls.

James let out a bitter sigh, closing his eyes as he started to talk quietly. “It’s the stupid articles dad. All the photos of you. All the stupid girls at school are obsessed with you. I finally asked Carella Albero out and all she wanted to talk about was you. They all fancy you. I’m so fucking sick of it dad. I know it’s not your fault but Aunty Lav doesn’t help, putting pictures of you in girly mags. I can’t forgive her for last year either…I don’t think I ever will.” Harry didn’t interrupt the boy, waiting quietly to see if he would elaborate on that last statement. James had got into an awful lot of trouble in the last year but had never given any indication that his aunt had influenced him in that. He had a feeling that his own reluctant celebrity wasn’t really the issue here.

Harry continued stroking his son’s hair, and minutes later James continued quietly. “She did that memorial thing, you know, the spotlight on war heroes rubbish. She put all about Ted’s parents in there. No one at school really knew his dad was a werewolf. Then that stupid article comes out and there’s copies of it going round school. People bullying Teddy about it constantly. Asking if he’s gonna bite them, refusing to sit by him, leaving a gap around him at the dinner table. Beating him up about it, calling him a freak and a pup and a were-baby. He wouldn’t tell anyone what was happening, and no one got caught in the act except me for fighting against them. He’s too much of a Hufflepuff to do anything about it, they just walked all over him. Dad, they made his last year at Hogwarts hell. That’s why he didn’t end up with an apprenticeship or job, he could barely get through his exams as it was. He made me promise not to tell though. I can’t forgive her for it. I can’t move past it. She causes so much shit for us all and is completely unapologetic about it. Ted might not be a Potter or a Weasley but he’s my brother and he doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit. He might not even manage to get a job now. I know he’s got one with you, but he wants to work with animals. Who is going to take him if they think he’s a rabid wolf?” James let out a shaky sigh, angry tears in his eyes.

Harry pulled his son into his arms, giving him the sort of hug he’d missed since James had decided he was too big for cuddles with his old man. “I’m so proud of you Jamie.” Harry murmured. James pulled back from the hug and looked at his dad with a bit of confusion and a lot of appreciation. He’d always been able to count on his dad for understanding his side of things, and for giving him a proper chance to explain rather than just flying off the handle like his mother tended to do. “I wish you’d told me this sooner mind,” continued Harry. “It would have been easier to help you over the last year if you had told me what was causing all the trouble.”

“Well Ted made me promise. Plus that’s not the only thing that I was a shit about last year, I’m still a fuck up, dad.” James glumly stated.

“Well it’s nice to understand some of it at least. Now I would like to say something to you, and I would like you to be quiet and listen until I’ve finished. Can you do that Jamie?” Asked Harry.

When his son nodded his agreement, Harry quietly spoke. “I see where you were coming from with your anger towards Aunty Lavender, however you need to understand that none of what she writes about is done with malice. Not when it comes to us lot, and I’m including Ted here. Lavender fought in the battle when she was only your age. She picked up those scars from the most despicable werewolf in existence. We thought she was dead after he’d finished with her, but she thankfully made a recovery. She has been dogged with accusations about being a werewolf ever since; that’s the thanks she gets for being a child fighter. She isn’t a wolf you know, she’s just like Uncle Bill. You know he gets more than his fair share of abuse for his scars too. She may be shrill and may be a gossip but she is also fiercely brave and she stands up for what she believes in. I can assure you, what she wrote about the Lupins was from a place of respect, and she would never want Ted to suffer because of it. I can also tell you now that magazines and papers always want to write about me, and the only interviews I grant are with either Luna or Lavender, so I can control the narrative. If it wasn’t her it would just be someone else with no care for our family or privacy, and little interest in the facts. Lavender truly doesn’t publish anything about us without checking it with me first. She deserves our respect and our trust. I would really appreciate it if you would apologise to Lavender for the way you spoke to her today. Do you think you can do that?”

James’ face was flushed a deep red, and he seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the carpet. “I’ll apologise to Aunty Lav. I should have spoken to you sooner. I’m sorry for embarrassing you at nan’s house too. Shall I send nan a card?”

“I think that’s a nice idea Jamie. I hope you understand you can come to me with anything. It might be hard for you to believe but I would do anything for you. I promise you can always trust me with your secrets, and I won’t judge you for anything you’ve done. All I ever want is the best for you. You’re my chip off the ol’ block. I love you so much Jamie, I always will.”

James mumbled like a typical teenager, “I love you too dad,” barely keeping from rolling his eyes.

True to his word, James called his aunt to apologise, before writing a card out for his nan whilst eating leftover potato salad. He thought the accidental mayo stain added character. For the first time in months Harry felt like he was getting somewhere with his wayward son.


	3. MONDAY 17TH AUGUST 2015

Harry’s hot shop and gallery were located just off Diagon Alley, on a little side street between Fortescue's and a small stationary shop. Having the name Potter attached to the business had ensured its success, despite its less than optimum location. The property however was perfect for Harry’s needs, with a clean, crisp gallery space up front, a large workshop at the back with bi-fold doors out onto a courtyard, and an open plan living space on the mezzanine above. Although Harry had crashed on the sofa upstairs on many occasions over the years, he lived separately in a modern muggle flat, allowing him privacy from the paparazzi who still seemed to obsess over his every move.

Despite Harry having set up his business nearly a decade ago, Draco had never visited his hot shop. There were many reasons for this, or excuses may be more accurate. Draco usually only managed much shorter visits to the UK, had many familial and friendly commitments, and most importantly, had avoided wizarding London at all costs.

Draco was nervous as he made his way from The Leaky Cauldron floo to Harry’s gallery. He hated being out of control and was filled with dread about what could happen to him here. He was still absolutely recognisable as a Malfoy; like Harry he was an almost perfect copy of his father. He may have changed his name and moved to another country, but he knew the wizarding world was damaged irreparably by the war, and that those memories were not easily forgotten. His thoughts were tumbling over the countless accusations and curses thrown his way by shoppers on Diagon Alley before he fled to Paris all those years ago, and his hand was gripping the wand in his pocket with vice-like force. He needn’t have been so worried however, as nothing untoward happened on his way to the gallery, just as Pansy and Harry had assured him they wouldn’t. He safely arrived at the gallery and ducked inside with no issues. Draco couldn’t help but be impressed by what he saw. He knew how talented a sculptor Harry was, owning some of his work himself, and having attended several exhibitions of Harry’s over the years. Seeing pieces displayed in his own space was a different experience though, and Draco found himself overwhelmed by the talent. He knew Harry focused his work on the human body, using both the male and female form as inspiration, but seeing so much of his work all in one place left Draco breathless at the pure erotic nature of it. He had always assumed that Harry would be nice in bed, being such a lovely normal man. But when confronted with his body of work, Draco felt he may be completely wrong about just how filthy his friend could be. These thoughts in mind, Draco realised he was going into this rendezvous completely on the back foot. Spending more time around the beautifully sexual sculptures made by Harry’s own hands wasn’t likely to ease his tension.

After being flirted with by the enthusiastic young twink manning the gallery, Draco was led out through the back, where there was a small kitchenette and toilet. The gallery manager (was his name Eddie or something?) told him to wait there, so Draco loitered, feeling a little flushed and awkward. Teddy appeared a few moments later, through a seemingly solid wall at the opposite end of the kitchen. He told Draco that only he and Harry could go through the wards to the hot shop, so he would have to grab onto Teddy to travel through the wall. He explained that Harry was in the middle of something he couldn’t put down, and they’d better hurry. Draco grabbed hold of Ted’s hand and together they squeezed through the wall, the sensation reminiscent of apparition.

When Draco arrived into Harry’s workshop he was gobsmacked. Harry was there with a long metal pole twisting through his hands, sweat drenching through his t-shirt and slicking his hair. His skin was glistening, muscles on his arms, shoulders, and back rippling with exertion. On the end of the pole was a large blob of glass, beginning to take the shape of a toned male torso, arching its back. Ted murmured to Draco to stay within a rectangle taped onto the floor, before heading over towards Harry. Throughout the process Teddy and Harry shared instructions with each other, but none of the words made sense. Draco allowed himself to be captivated by the process, watching as the two men passed the pole between them, heating the glass in a large furnace, sitting down to work it with tools and moving it onto another pole. When the form of the man was looking clear and detailed enough to be finished, Harry took the pole, rolling it along the arms of the wooden chair he worked at, and started waving his hand over the piece while quietly murmuring a spell. The clear glass started to glow from the inside with the same ethereal, enchanting light the piece Ginny received for her birthday had. Once Harry finished his spell weaving, he shouted for Ted, who approached the bench wearing a large pair of dragonhide gloves, like giant oven mitts. Teddy held his hands under the glass which was still attached to the pole. Harry dripped water on the glass at the pole end, tapped the pole with a pair of what looked like giant tweezers, and the glass fell off into Teddy’s waiting hands. Ted hastily took the piece to a large metal kiln, with Harry opening the door allowing him to put it on a shelf inside, before closing the kiln quickly.

“Well done Ted, that’ll be a beauty.” Harry directed at Ted, pulling his t-shirt up and using it wipe the perspiration from his face. Draco had to look away from Harry’s taught, scarred stomach at this point.

“Yeah it looks good Uncle Harry,” replied Ted, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “You want some water?”

“Oh yeah,” said Harry, before making his way over to Draco. He caught the water bottle Ted threw to him, and took a long, refreshing drink.

Draco noticed he was slightly out of breath still and could easily understand why. He knew Harry was a glassblower, a sculptor. Somehow, he had never considered just how physically demanding such an occupation could be. “That was fucking amazing Harry,” Draco stated earnestly. He had truly been in awe watching his friend and cousin working together that way.

“Pretty cool, huh,” replied Harry with a grin. “There’s nothing like working with molten glass. Sorry I couldn’t be there when you got here, I was at a crucial stage and couldn’t risk losing the whole thing. It just takes a bit too much cooling for the piece to crack and become useless. We’ve had a challenging few days trying to get that one in the kiln.”

“Don’t be silly, I was perusing your gallery and got chatting to your manager… though I can’t for the life of me remember his name.”

Harry chuckled before replying, “Oh you met Eric, he’s an interesting kid. I’m sure he has a crush on Ted; he keeps trying to come to lunch with us. Doesn’t seem to understand that we can’t all leave the building at the same time, not if we want to make any sales.”

“Are you sure it’s Ted that he’s interested in? It’s not only grandmothers that read Witch Weekly and have a hero fetish you know.” Draco gave Harry that smile that always made his stomach clench, the one where he poked his tongue out to the side a little bit and quirked an eyebrow.

Harry groaned, begging Draco to drop that topic. He sent Ted to lunch, with instructions to be back in an hour to cover Eric’s lunch break. With two hours free before his assistant was back in the hot shop, Harry offered to take Draco out for lunch, which of course he agreed to. Although apprehensive, Draco agreed to trust Harry to take him for a meal on Diagon Alley. There was a popular new Vietnamese place that Harry Potter could get them into with no notice. Harry took Draco upstairs to the mezzanine where he had a quick shower, changing out of his sweaty glassblowing clothes and into something slightly smarter. He apologised for his attire, explaining that he only kept a few items of clothing at work in case of last-minute plans. Draco kept the fact that he looked completely delectable in his loose t-shirt, scruffy blue jeans and Vans to himself.

Draco bombarded Harry with questions about the glassblowing demonstration he had witnessed while they waited for their starters of green mango salad and fresh spring rolls. The food was exquisite, and so was the company, the back and forth demonstrative of their ease in each other’s company. True to Harry's word, Draco was completely safe from confrontation during their outing, with Harry such a regular face on Diagon Alley that the shoppers barely spared him a second glance. Draco relaxed as their meal progressed, revelling in the company of the man who knew him so well, and could match him both in intellect and friendly verbal sparring.

After walking Harry back to his studio and picking his brain about the work in the gallery, Draco said his goodbyes and agreed to call Harry later that night. He went back to Ginny and Pansy’s flat and spent the remainder of the afternoon frantically working through some design ideas of his own, inspired by what he had seen in the gallery. That evening while he was swept up with wedding business, he allowed his mind to consider what it would be like to move back to London. It was never a topic he ever let himself think about, with the very real fear that returning would be dangerous. So many years after the war it didn’t feel so frightening, and after a beautiful afternoon spent with Harry on Diagon Alley, Draco couldn’t help but think he might be ready to come home.

++++++++++++++

Harry had come home after a long day in the hot shop and was looking forward to a nice cold shower to sooth some of his aches. He half-heartedly put together a dinner of jacket potatoes with tuna and salad, leaving some under a stasis charm for James who was God knows where. After his hastily consumed meal, he showered in his en-suite, dried himself, then relaxed on his bed in a pair of tight-fitting white boxers. He could not be bothered to be up and about any longer. The day had been challenging, with a commission he and Teddy had been crafting ending up broken on the floor twice before they achieved success. Glad that he’d managed to get something useable in the kiln at last, Harry was exhausted and overheated from his trying day. He massaged his aching hip as he tried to get into a comfortable position, eventually propping his feet up on some pillows.

Hearing the door go, Harry sighed back against his pillow, able to properly relax knowing his son was in for the night. It was only eight o’ clock and still light, so Harry half heartedly attempted to read some of the book Hermione had given him for his birthday. It was a light-hearted muggle tale about a hundred year old man who climbed out the window of his nursing home to go on an adventure, and Harry found himself chuckling along, briefly lost in the story. When his phone buzzed, he looked up to realise it was getting darker, so he drew the curtains and put the bedside lamp on. Harry checked his phone and saw something that never failed to make his stomach lurch: a text from Draco.

**21:17 from Draco Black: They had me organising the table plan all evening…it was horrific. There are far too many family feuds amongst the Weasley’s, and the Parkinson’s are even worse. Send help.**

Harry could not help the slow smile that spread across his face. He knew the book was a lost cause if Draco was available to talk to. Folding over the corner of the page and setting his book on the bedside table, Harry settled back against the headboard and typed his reply.

_21:18 to Draco Black: Why do you think I refused to marry into that family?_

**21:18 from Draco Black: You’re a massive queen**

_21:18 to Draco Black: Irrelevant_

**21:19 from Draco Black: Ginny is a raging dyke**

_21:19 to Draco Black: Raging. I’ll tell her you said that. Anyway I could have married one of the others. I’m sure Charlie would have me._

**21:19 from Draco Black: He’s a dragon shagger, I think I’m more his type**

**21:20 from Draco Black: Sadly you are sat miles from me at the wedding**

**21:21 from Draco Black: So is Charlie**

**21:22 from Draco Black: Harry?**

Harry sighed, desperately trying to get a handle on himself. He knew there was no way Draco would ever want to be with him. He knew it. Draco was a six foot tall blonde Adonis. Harry was scarred and broken and lived a million miles away. That did not make it any easier to imagine Draco being with someone else. He understood Draco was joking about Charlie, just as Harry had been, but that did not stop that tight ball of jealousy forming in the pit of his stomach. He tried to brush those thoughts aside and enjoy being in the same time zone as Draco for once.

_21:25 to Draco Black: If you need a dragon tamer then Greg’s available._

_21:25 to Draco Black: Why am I miles from you? At the wedding I mean, not now you’re in the same city as me finally._

**21:26 from Draco Black: That is an alarming thought. Let’s forget I ever mentioned the dragon shagging at all**

**21:26 from Draco Black: I have to be at the top table as Pansy’s best man. Sadly your spawn is Ginny’s so you have to sit with the peasants**

_21:26 to Draco Black: Which peasants?_

**21:27 from Draco Black: Greg, Theo, Daphne, Astoria, some Weasley and Parkinson cousins. I can’t remember their names, it’s all a terrible blur I’d rather forget at this point.**

_21:27 to Draco Black: Oh, for fuck sake. I’m at the sad singles table then_

**21:28 from Draco Black: If the boot fits**

_21:28 to Draco Black: Why am I friends with you again?_

**21:29 from Draco Black: Because I will supply you with a wedding outfit so spectacular that hordes of eligible bachelors will be clamouring at your door for months afterwards?**

_21:30 to Draco Black: Promises promises_

**21:31 from Draco Black: Just going for a shower, can I call you afterwards?**

_21:31 to Draco Black: Alright_

It made Harry uncomfortable when Draco mentioned him picking up men. So many times, he had come close to telling him that the only man he wanted was Draco, particularly if he’d been drinking. He enjoyed their text exchanges, which usually ranged between silly and sarcastic, but he loved it when Draco phoned him infinitely more. When they were on the phone, they dropped the bravado and sarcasm and Harry got to see the sweet and vulnerable side of Draco that he had inadvertently fallen for. Their late-night calls, which had lately become video calls, adding an extra layer of delight for Harry, covered all the serious topics from the past, present and future; things Harry never spoke to anyone else about. He suspected this was the same for Draco. With everything that had happened between them, having seen both the best and worst of each other, there was nothing left for them to hide behind. Harry often lay there in the middle of the night, having hushed conversations with Draco about his worries with James, his business, his bouts of insomnia and panic attacks, the PTSD which had faded significantly but he would never be completely free from. Some things Harry never talked about were relationships, loneliness, or his desire for more children. Those things he guarded more closely than anything else, as they were all wrapped up in his hope that Draco would one day come to love him back.

Harry went to the toilet and brushed his teeth, checking himself in the mirror while he was in there. He slept naked, but usually he put a t-shirt on when video calling with Draco. It was hot as hell tonight though, in the midst of an August heatwave, and after overheating in the hot shop all afternoon Harry could not face putting clothes on again. He decided that Draco would have to tolerate his bare shoulders this once, and surely, he was in the same position himself tonight. The cheeky part of his brain hoped so.

++++++++++++++

Draco had a cool shower; the flat was sadly lacking in air conditioning due to the general misery of British weather. A heatwave in England usually lasted a couple of weeks at the most, culminating in a heaving downpour before the normal grey drabness resumed. Draco washed his hair, relishing the feel of the cool water cascading down his lithe body. He was looking forward to his call with Harry, having missed them since being here. He usually managed to fit in a FaceTime call with Harry at least once a day, either when Harry got into bed or was waking up. The time difference meant they could not both talk each other to sleep at night. Being able to chat in bed together would be a rare treat. Draco had been disappointed with how little time he was going to be able to spend with Harry on this trip. With wedding planning, friends to see, Harry working, and nearly every waking minute swallowed up by Ginny and Pansy, there was just not enough time for Draco’s favourite guilty pleasure. He rinsed the conditioner out of his hair before turning off the shower. In the bathroom he combed his wet hair and piled it up in a bun. He couldn’t face blow drying it in this sticky heat. Despite having just got out the shower, Draco was already starting to feel uncomfortably warm once again. After towel drying and applying moisturiser to his face and body, Draco slipped a loose t-shirt on. This turned out to be a mistake as it started sticking to his warm body straight away. Shrugging, he took the t-shirt off, hoping Harry didn’t object to a bit of flesh on show. He remembered that Harry had seen his magazine spread and inwardly cringed; there were few secrets left now. He was glad that the angle of those photos did not show the lion and serpent entwined on his shoulder. He could get away with the lightning tattooed over his narcissus field as an interesting stormy sky but was not sure he could quite explain away his tribute to Gryffindor and Slytherin. Returning to the guest room in just his underwear, Draco plumped up the pillows and settled against them to make the call, completely unable to keep the smile off his face at his favourite time of the day.

When Harry answered the phone, Draco had to remind himself to breathe. Harry appeared on his screen with ruffled bed hair, beautifully naked chest, muscled shoulders, and that intense green gaze. Draco had the urge to kiss the oval scar left on his chest from the horcrux Harry had once told him about. When on a video call with anyone else, Draco would spend the time looking at his own reflection, rather than the other caller. There was no way he was going to tear his eyes away from Harry tonight, however. With a token glance to check he wasn’t visibly salivating, Draco’s eyes returned to Harry, and did not leave his face again.

“Hi.” Harry’s mouth quirked into a smile, his eyes crinkling. He was using the hushed night-time phone voice that Draco had come to know and love. _Those dimples_ : his thoughts were treacherous. Everything about this interaction was doing something to Draco, who saw himself getting hard before this call was over. _Really_ , he thought, _this silly crush is getting out of hand._

Realising he had just been staring and smiling at Harry for a longer time than was normal, Draco hastened to return his greeting with a sharp “Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but it was just for show, as his smile grew. “Draco,” he injected some playful disdain to his voice in a nod to their youth, the raised eyebrow not missed by Draco. “Fill me in on wedding central?”

++++++++++++++

Harry let Draco’s words wash over him as he tried to calm the fuck down. There was something to be said for normal phone calls, where he wouldn’t find himself face to face with the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He found it slightly easier to look over towards the window instead of directly at Draco, allowing him to follow some of the conversation and respond appropriately. This had the distinct disadvantage of him not looking at Draco, which in Harry’s book, was unacceptable. Harry breathed through his arousal, joining in the chatter, and inserted horrifying images of Umbridge in lacey pants into his lust-addled brain when he found himself getting carried away. It was quite the erection killer. He considered how much he would enjoy telling Draco about this tactic if they ever ended up together. _Behave_ , he reminded himself.

Harry found himself once again talking through the problems with James. It was good to have had an insight into his son’s mind during their heart to heart the other day, and for once Harry felt he might be getting through to the boy. He told Draco about everything they’d discussed, while Draco patiently listened, and as always, provided a solid shoulder to cry on.

“As awkward as being the object of your son’s teenage girlfriend’s affections might be, I can’t say I’m surprised. You’re probably a decade younger than the rest of their parents, and you are a DILF.”

“What the fuck is a DILF?” asked Harry, whose puzzled face caused Draco to laugh.

“Well you must know what a MILF is? Everyone knows that”, replied Draco, with a sly smirk on his flawless face.

“I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know what it means. Am I showing my age?”

“It’s from that muggle film, American Pie. It means Mum I’d Like to Fuck. So DILF is-”

“Dad I’d Like to Fuck!” Harry finished for him with a groan, a blush colouring his cheeks. “Kill me now.”

“And deprive all those young witches of their wank material? I think not.” Draco watched as Harry buried his head into a pillow, and feeling sorry for him, changed the subject. “DILFs aside, it’s great that you finally have an explanation for some of his rage, and perhaps we can do something about it now.”

Harry enjoyed the _we_ in that comment, appreciating how much Draco was there for him through all the strife. He apologised for James’ behaviour at the burrow.

“Don’t apologise Harry, it’s nothing. We were far worse at his age,” Draco reminded him.

“We did have the excuse of being hunted by maniacs though,” Harry returned.

“There is that. However, we had it far harder and look at us now. I was a death eater and you literally died. Now we are both successful business owners, and still in possession of our own teeth no less. He will be fine in the end.”

Harry laughed at that. Draco often had the words and the tone he needed to pull him out of a funk.

He stifled a yawn and pulled the sheet up over his body, shifting himself under it and taking his glasses off. He lay down on his side with his phone propped up against the pillow next to him, as if Draco were beside him in the bed.

_Oh, you gorgeous twat_ , thought Draco, _don’t lie down next to me and expect me to function normally_. But despite his thoughts, Draco couldn’t help mirroring Harry’s actions. Pulling his hair bobble out before running his fingers through his damp locks, Draco shifted his pillows for sleep. He snuggled down into them, pulling a light quilt over him before settling down on the opposite side of the bed to Harry. He couldn’t stop himself from wishing he really was beside the man in bed. Even if he didn’t want to pursue a romantic relationship with Harry, he ached to lay out next to him. The thought of the comforting body of the man he trusted above all others in bed next to him, with his warm weight and intoxicating scent, was the most exquisite fantasy for Draco. Both men lay together without speaking much now. They were becoming sleepy, and it was not unusual for Harry in particular to fall asleep while on the phone with Draco. Draco was content that they could do this together for once. He mumbled goodnight, and received a sleepy “Night Draco,” in return. His breathing slowed in time with Harry’s, and together they drifted off to sleep.


	4. TUESDAY 18TH AUGUST 2015

One of Harry’s pleasures in life was to cook for his friends, and his food was good enough that they often badgered him into doing so. Having Draco for dinner as well as the regulars encouraged him to make an extra effort. He finished work early to get groceries from Sainsbury’s on his way home, and ensured he stocked up on good wine and beer to enjoy alongside the Thai green curry he had planned. Slipping into a side alley, Harry apparated back to his flat, put the shopping away, and went for a shower. The heatwave was intensifying, with talk of hose pipes bans on the radio in his hot shop that afternoon. Harry was keen to wash the day away before his guests arrived. He dressed in the dark blue jeans Pansy had told him made his arse look “fucking delicious,” and chose a reasonably tight white t-shirt. After ruffling his hopeless hair and making sure he was looking and smelling his best, Harry headed into his kitchen to start dinner.

He put the radio on to listen to the Jo Whiley show and was dancing around the kitchen when he heard his guests coming through the floo. He carried on chopping onions and bopping along to the Courteeners as they came into the kitchen, Ginny giving him a kiss on the cheek as she wafted past. He grabbed her hand and spun her round before returning to his chopping, wiggling his hips in time with the beat.

“There’s white in the fridge or red on the sideboard; help yourselves,” Harry said over his shoulder, giving Draco and Pansy a smile.

Draco cleared his throat, having been momentarily distracted by the sight of Harry’s arse swaying in _those_ jeans. Ginny got four glasses out, while Draco grabbed a bottle of Rioja. He sidled up to Harry and asked, “Got a corkscrew?”

Harry gave him an amused look, and replied, “Forgot your wand?”

Before Draco could respond, Harry gently took the bottle from him, gave it a look of concentration, then made a pulling gesture with his hand over the top of the bottle. The cork came loose, and Harry caught it before passing both back to Draco.

“So, you’ve just given up on yours then?” Draco enquired, feeling flustered after seeing yet another display of Harry’s magical prowess. He had become unaccustomed to carrying his wand, and the instinct to use magic around the house had faded.

“Hm?”

“Your wand? You’ve given up using it?”

“Oh. That. I’m not sure where it is to be honest. Somewhere in my bedroom maybe?” Harry shrugged then returned to chopping vegetables. Draco stared at him for a moment, trying to comprehend that statement and Harry playing down his tremendous skill. Harry turned to face him; head cocked enquiringly. Draco shook his head in return and went to pour a glass of wine for himself, Pansy and Ginny.

“Potter?” He held up the bottle to his friend.

Harry shook his head in reply, “A beer please, there’s Singha in the fridge.”

He turned back to the stove, chucking onion into the hot frying pan. He took the cold bottle from Draco with a smile and turned to raise it to his guests with a “Cheers”.

Returning to his cooking, Harry continued to dance along to the radio as he added garlic, spices, and vegetables. He poured coconut milk into the pan, adding the chicken, and setting it to simmer before taking a seat at the table with his friends.

++++++++++++++

“So, Draco, do you have a muggle hunk waiting for you back home?” teased Pansy.

“What, left chained to my bed?” drawled Draco, quirking an eyebrow.

“I suppose, as long as you’ve got Josh going in to feed and water him,” Pansy shot back.

“Must you?” he sighed.

Ginny gave Harry the side eye as his jaw clenched at the topic of conversation. He frowned at her in return, before taking a large swig of his beer.

“Come on Draco, Perez Hilton hasn’t caught you stumbling home with some hapless chap in months, there must be someone putting a smile on your face. You haven’t been so relaxed in this country since fifth year,” pressed Pansy.

“Excuse me you wretch, my conquests are actually extremely fortunate,” replied Draco, _hapless_ indeed.

“Of course they are,” she soothed. “So, is there anyone?”

“There’s no one to write home about,” Draco stated firmly. In an effort to steer the conversation away from his non-existent love life, he asked Ginny how she was getting on with the Harpies, but was rudely interrupted from this transparent tactic by Pansy.

“Stop changing the subject you menace. I haven’t seen you in a over a year, I’ve barely heard from you in months, I have to get my intel from bottom feeders like Perez Bastarding Hilton, and you come here and still evade my questions!” Pansy’s voice seemed to raise in volume with each word.

“That escalated quickly,” remarked Harry, as he slid from his seat to stir the curry. This was a subject he was never happy to talk about with Draco and wasn’t sure why Pansy brought it up here when he was staying at their place. With his back to the table, Harry busied himself with the dinner, the tension in his shoulders not going unnoticed by Ginny.

Draco’s eyes followed Harry’s movements across the kitchen before he turned his attention back to Pansy. “Yes, shall we rein it in Pans? If you want the truth, I have been focused on work, so I haven’t the time for dalliances with men.”

“Well that never stopped you before,” pouted Pansy.

Draco released a put-upon sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “In all honesty, I wish I _could_ find a lovely muggle to settle down with. Walks in central park, morning papers in bed and sex in the kitchen. The whole shebang. But as I am sure Potter can attest, it’s not that simple. You can never tell them the truth of yourself, and that always leaves a wall between you.”

“Well what about a lovely wizard then? Brooklyn has a fantastic magical district, remember when we went to that bar in Dumbo? Diagon is a joke in comparison,” chimed in Ginny.

Harry and Draco made a face at that suggestion. Both had enough bad experiences with wizards behind them to warrant giving up on them entirely.

“I’d rather be single,” joined Harry, plonking some fresh spring rolls and peanut sauce on the table as he sat back down. “Remember when I was seeing Sam? I came this close to telling him about it all. He just couldn’t reconcile me with a man who would send his kid to boarding school. Glad I never did now.”

“Oh God, Sam!” exclaimed Ginny, with a mixture of groans and giggles from the others. Harry felt a blush rising up his cheeks.

“Sweet Merlin, he was a bore,” laughed Pansy, as she dunked a spring roll.

“Alright you vipers. He wasn’t _that_ bad,” Harry grumbled around his mouthful.

“Darling, even Justin Finch-Fletchley insisted he was dull. And _he’s_ king of the bores,” Pansy said, a teasing twinkle in her eyes.

“Yes, alright, he was dull as dishwater,” conceded Harry. “Had a lovely big cock though.” He grinned at their assorted grimaces and eye-rolls.

“Ugh, you’ll put me off my food. Speaking of which, where’s this curry we were promised?” Ginny asked as she polished off the last of the starter.

“Right,” said Harry, taking the hint.

A flurry of activity followed, with the girls helping to get bowls and cutlery out while Harry finished off the curry and Draco topped the drinks up. After bringing the serving dishes to the table, Harry took a seat with his friends. The pause in conversation continued as they dished up their food and sent appreciative noises Harry’s way.

++++++++++++++

The kitchen was quiet as the curry was consumed, aside from Radio Two playing quietly in the background and compliments being made to the chef. Pansy was right, Draco felt at peace - more so than he had in a long time. He had a wonderful group of muggle friends back home, who also cooked for each other regularly. He had thought they were giving him all he needed, but in comparison he was noticing how much of himself he held back in his interactions with those he referred to as his chosen family. He often felt like a fraud around them; he knew they could not truly love him without knowing all that he was - the darkness as well as the light. He reflected that no one could ever be as close to him as those that had lived through the worst of him and loved him despite that.

Shaking himself from these maudlin thoughts, Draco searched his mind for something light-hearted to bring to the conversation. Only four days into his trip and he was already at his wits end with discussing decorations and seating charts and favours, so was keen not to let the conversation move to the wedding. The previous chat about relationships with muggles brought to mind one of Draco’s favourite silly fantasies. 

“Have any of you ever thought about how fun it would be to tell a muggle about our world?” he asked.

“Yes!” exclaimed Harry. “They’d never believe you, probably try to get you sectioned.”

“Can you imagine how the conversation would go?” Draco made a terrible attempt at a New York accent as he said “You want to show me your magic wand? Is that a euphemism?”

Pansy cackled at his effort before trying a slightly more believable cockney, “Talking to snakes? Is _that_ a euphemism?”

Harry and Ginny were laughing along, as much at the accents as what was being said. She managed a very convincing Welsh twang after spending so many years with the Harpies, keeping a straight face as she said, “You drink potions with _newts’_ eyes in?”

“Mate just take some paracetamol,” Harry added in a poor imitation of the Weasley’s west-country diction.

“Salazar Potter, you sound like a drunk farmer. Or a pirate,” teased Draco, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. His eyes softened as he smiled fondly at his friend.

“Owls deliver your post?” Ginny continued, wavering between Welsh and Scottish as she got a case of the giggles.

“You just jump in a fire and tell it where you want to go? Deathwish, much?”

“Goblins guard your gold?”

“You escaped from a bank heist on the back of a dragon?”

“He had no nose?”

“How did he smell?”

“Terrible.”

They all groaned at that one, Ginny giggling and clutching her stomach as Pansy grabbed onto her shoulder and cackled.

“You expect me to believe that abra cadabra is how you kill people?”

“Seventeen sickles to a galleon and 29 knuts to a sickle, yet you don’t have _maths_ lessons?”

“Half giant? How the hell did a normal sized man manage to impregnate a sixteen foot tall woman?” Harry finished, heavily interrupted by his snorting with laughter every few words.

++++++++++++++

The group were still giggling an hour later, at a table littered with debris from the meal and an evening spent boozing. James came home late, on the scrounge for leftovers, and heard enough of his parent’s conversation to decide it was probably for the best to eat in his room.

When the girls said goodnight to Harry, Draco decided he would stay for a while longer. They had been keeping him so busy that he had less time to text Harry on an evening than when he was working. And wasn’t _that_ concerning. Pansy reminded him they were leaving early for bridesmaid dress shopping so he shouldn’t stay out too late. Draco made a horrified face to Harry when she turned to leave. He had hoped they might have finished more of the wedding preparations before his trip, however they had decided that as the designer, he should be the one with creative control. He had attempted to remind them that Harry was a bloody artist and should have been helping them the whole time. Apparently, Harry’s good taste did not extend to fashion or table settings, so Draco was stuck with the lot.

The two men moved to the comfort of the living room, with a nightcap of Ogden’s in hand. Harry groaned as he sat down on the sofa, rubbing his sore hip to try and ease the ache from a full day on his feet.

“Are you ok?” enquired Draco, concern in his voice.

“Yeah, just had a busy day, think I’ll have a paperwork day tomorrow to give it some rest.” Harry made a horrified face at that; avoiding paperwork had become his special skill.

“I hate that it happened,” said Draco quietly. “The last thing you deserved was to get injured so severely, after everything.”

“I don’t. Hate that it happened I mean. It was the best thing to happen to me at the time; I don’t think I would still be alive if I hadn’t bust my hip.”

“You nearly died as it was Potter,” shot Draco sharply.

“I know, sorry. I didn’t mean it was a completely positive thing to happen. I know everyone was sick with worry; waking up to a plethora of ashen-faced Weasleys is not something to forget in a hurry.” Harry quirked a sheepish smile, momentarily distracting Draco with his irresistible dimple.

“What do you mean then?” Draco asked. The pair were barely more than passing acquaintances around the time of Harry’s injury, and although they had spoken briefly about it, he had never been so candid. Most of what Draco knew about that time was second-hand information.

“Look, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. I’ve never told anyone how I really feel about it all, and for good reason. It was traumatic for everyone when I was in the coma and everything was so uncertain. I can’t tell them my side when they’ve struggled to get over it themselves.” Harry shrugged uncertainly.

“Harry. It’s me you’re talking to. Just tell me what you’re thinking.”

“It’s a long story, are you sitting comfortably?” Harry teased.

“Just get on with it, Potter,” Draco pressed.

“Well me and you weren’t that close then, so I don’t think you really knew how much I was struggling.” Harry looked to Draco and he nodded his agreement.

Harry averted his eyes as he continued, “After the war, I was looking for distraction from my own thoughts everywhere I could. To start with it was Ginny; we lost ourselves in each other for months before she went back for her seventh year and by then I’d started auror training, which was as intense a distraction as you could imagine. We’d split up by the time we found out Gin was pregnant, and she was freaking out; she’d had an offer to train with the Harpies after graduating and was adamant she couldn’t keep the baby. At this point I was pretty positive I was gay and thought it might be my only chance of being a dad, so I offered to raise the baby; told Ginny she didn’t have to be involved at all if she didn’t want to. The decision was made once she told her parents she was pregnant - there was no way they would have been on board with her getting an abortion. With that came some extra pressures; they desperately wanted us to get married and continued to try to convince us to do it for years after. They still mention it on occasion, though I’m sure it’s a joke by now. They didn’t really care when I told them I was gay, they still thought we should be together to raise the baby properly.

Well, Jamie came along, and I was besotted from the moment I laid eyes on him. Ginny had been back and forth over whether to be involved with bringing him up all through her pregnancy, but once she saw him, she realised she wanted to be his mum. Those first few years were non-stop. Gin was away most of the time with the team, so she was only really helping for a couple of months in the summer. The rest of the time there was just me, raising my boy, and working full time as an auror. I was lucky to have Molly and Andromeda to look after him while I worked, and my days passed in a blur of crack of dawn wake ups and ferrying him back and forth around my shifts. On my days off I had Ted as well as Jamie; I was adamant Ted would be part of our family and not grow up as alone as I did. This worked well for me, or so I thought at the time, as my days were so full, I could fall into bed and be asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. There was no time to think about the war, or to mourn, to consider the consequences of my sexuality, or to sort through my feelings about my horrific childhood. That was the way I liked it. I was barely managing to get us washed, dressed, and fed each day, and lived in a constant state of adrenaline highs and lows.

The day I got hit with that cursed sword and ended up in a coma was probably the first time I got more than four hours sleep in seven years. My family have told me the story from their perspective; the weeks they spent trying to figure out the curse I was hit with so they could close the wound. Being called into the meeting because the healers thought they should withdraw treatment and let me go. I know most of them agreed with the doctors and prepared themselves to say goodbye. I know I am only alive today because Charlie Weasley fought for me.”

Harry paused, eyes wet, then quietly continued, “I know it was awful for them, that’s why I can’t be honest about my feelings surrounding it.”

He took a big gulp of his drink then carried on, “When I woke up, the pain was like nothing you could even imagine, and unrelenting; worse than a crucio from Voldemort. They pumped me full of pain killers and I spent weeks in and out of consciousness. I was too out of it to even ask about James and Ted. When the pain had started to ease, they reduced the dose, which allowed me to think clearly again. That was the worst moment of my life. I was trapped, immobile in a hospital bed, unable to look after the kids, and with nothing but my own mind to torture myself with. I was awful to everyone who came into the room. My mind was replaying memories I’d repressed for years, plus I was sick with worry about the kids; I thought my body was ruined and I’d never be able to look after them. I was convinced Ginny would give Jamie up for adoption...”, at this, Harry broke down, tears streaming down his face. Draco pulled him in for a hug and sat quietly rubbing his back until he calmed down.

Harry cleared his throat and reluctantly pulled away before he continued, “Sorry about that. I know she would never have given him up by that point, but that’s just where my head was at.

Based on my behaviour, the doctors set me up with a routine of physio in the morning and therapy in the afternoon. I enthusiastically complied with the physio, pushing my body so I could go home and be a proper dad again. I was less compliant with the therapy, at least in the beginning. Those first few days I would sit and glare at the therapist, who smiled benignly in return. She asked a few gentle questions but didn’t push me. In my third session, she informed me that I couldn’t be discharged without sign off from both herself and the physio. You can imagine the rage I threw her way. Once I had calmed down enough to return to glaring at her, I realised I’d better fob her off with something if I was ever going to get my kids back.

The thing is, once I started talking, I found it hard to stop. I was crying within the first few minutes, and barely managed to get anything out. With each session I began to cry less and talk more, and the more I talked the better I felt. My therapist, who I still see to this day, helped me to figure out that some of the awful opinions I had about myself were wrong. That some of the things I thought other people felt about me were wrong. She showed me the ways in which the things that had happened to me had shaped my thinking. Essentially, she showed me the ways my brain was fucked up and helped me to figure out how to un-fuck it. It was the most important turning point for me.

Without knowing my side of the story, you can’t comprehend why I think getting sliced with that sword saved my life. The truth of the matter is, if something hadn’t happened to make me stop, I would have run myself into the ground. I was like a ticking time bomb. I was barely looking after the boys, let alone myself. That’s without considering the hell that was Grimmauld Place. The kids were growing up in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, full of some of the worst of my wartime memories, not to mention the _horrific_ décor! When I was discharged from St. Mungo’s, I just couldn’t go back there. I needed somewhere with wheelchair access and I was beyond relieved at that. I never would have gotten rid of the place without that push, not after Sirius had left it to me. In the final weeks of my hospital stay George took Ted and Jamie flat hunting and found this place. I was ecstatic to get out of the hospital and instantly fell in love with the home my boys chose for us.

So, while I do have horrible scars, pain in my joints, and the occasional day I can barely walk, what I have gained far exceeds what I lost.” Harry looked at Draco self-consciously. He hadn’t meant to ramble on for so long.

“I understand now,” Draco reassured. “Thank you for telling me.”

Harry shrugged awkwardly, before excusing himself to top up their drinks and give himself five minutes in private.

++++++++++++++

When he returned Draco was perusing one of Harry’s favourite possessions - the vinyl collection he inherited from Sirius. Draco selected a record and put it on the turntable before sitting back down. Harry smiled as the opening bars of a favourite song played out. Glancing at Draco he saw he had relaxed into the couch, a soft smile on his face as he quietly sang along.

_Speed jive, don’t wanna stay alive, when you’re 25._

Harry sat back to mirror Draco, looking up at the ceiling as he stumbled over a few lyrics, until it got to the chorus and he belted out:

_All the young dudes (hey dudes!), carry the news (where are you?)._

Harry was feeling pleasantly buzzed, warm and content as he and Draco sat with knees touching while they enjoyed the song. He looked over at Draco and grinned as together they sang out boldly:

_Now I’ve drunk a lot of wine and I’m feeling fine, got to race some cat to bed._

The heat of the eye contact built before Draco looked away, though neither of them could keep their eyes off each other for long.

_All the young dudes (I want to hear you), carry the news (I want to see you)._

When the song came to an end and the needle lifted from the record, the friends sat in comfortable silence finishing their drinks. With knees still pressed together, both reflected that the night had been one of the best they’d had in a long time.

Draco let loose a contented sigh as he grudgingly said, “I suppose I had better be off, seeing as they have me fully itinerised for tomorrow.”

Harry took the glass off him, putting them both on the sideboard before pulling Draco into a hug, breathing in his delicious scent. Draco held on for a few sweet moments before pulling back to look Harry in the eye. “You are truly the bravest man I have ever known, and not only for the things you’re famous for.”

He pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek, leaving him dumb struck as Draco stepped into the floo, drinking in the sight of his friend one last time before being whisked away through the flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos, and to those who have subscribed. All the feedback is very much appreciated. This is my first attempt at writing and it's so lovely for me that people are enjoying it.  
> I have planned out the whole story but still have lots left to write. I will be aiming to add a chapter every 1-2 weeks depending how busy I am with uni.  
> If you've persevered this far then I assume you like the story, and I hope you continue to do so.  
> Take care  
> Emily  
> P.s. I am embelini on insta if you'd like to say hello


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